The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin

by T C Southwell

Sabre lived in a shadowy realm he had drifted into from the sweetness of oblivion, caught in a limbo between subjugation and awakening. Muttering voices reached him, and he opened his eyes. He lay on a soft surface, and all that remained under his control were his unfocussed eyes. Blurred shapes moved around him, then someone raised his head and pressed a cup to his lips. Bitter liquid flowed into his mouth, and he swallowed in reflex. He closed his eyes.

  “What is wrong with him?”

  The question filtered into Sabre’s brain through the cyber’s smothering control, and he recognised Prince Victor’s voice.

  “He appears to be under a powerful spell, Your Highness.”

  The second voice was unfamiliar. Probably a magician, he thought, and wanted to laugh. As if some primitive mage could understand the intricacies of the cyber. A spell, indeed. Curious, he listened to the conversation, straining to understand it through the muffling.

  “I know he uses magic. Has he been caught up in his own spell?” Victor asked.

  “I believe so, Highness,” the stranger replied.

  “So there is nothing you can do?”

  “I am afraid not. He uses an odd magic, one with which I am unfamiliar. Perhaps he will still recover.”

  Silence clamped down. Either the magician had left, or they had moved out of earshot. Sabre allowed his thoughts to wander. Perhaps if Tassin commanded the cyber, it would relinquish its partial control so he could serve her again. The prospect was galling, but preferable to lying here until he died of thirst, since these people had no way of feeding him properly. He could not communicate this idea, however, and he allowed the blackness to wash over him again.

  When Sabre drifted back to consciousness, his rumbling stomach and burning thirst told him that a fair amount of time had passed. He wondered what had awakened him, and opened his eyes. Everything was in focus. Surprised, he tried to move his arm, but found that his body was still beyond his control. A voice close to his ear startled him.

  “Did you hear me, Sabre? I said Queen Tassin has left for Arlin.” Victor leant over him, frowning.

  Sabre blinked, striving to move or speak, but the cyber kept him helpless. He stared up at Victor, wondering how he could communicate with the Prince, then he became aware of something going on inside his head. Concentrating on it, he received another surprise. The cyber’s information was displayed as a virtual image, unobtrusive, yet easily available when he looked. The scanners’ data, set against a black background, showed points of light indicating the living organisms in the room, since the stone walls blocked the bio-scanners.

  Sabre studied the rest of the information now available to him. A structural analysis of the room appeared as a faint collection of lines, to the left of a scrolling list of numbers and letters. They indicated room temperature, air pressure, atmospheric composition, the co-ordinates of the planet according to the Schellion Grid, a radiation level, which was slightly elevated, the exact time and date on several major planets, with Myon Two first, and a plethora of other data. As he contemplated this, it changed to a map of those parts of the palace he had visited. That faded, and an analysis of his bodily functions replaced it. Interested, he concentrated on the computer image of his body, which showed the areas the cyber controlled in green. Several major areas of his brain were red, which explained the tiny supercomputer’s incomplete domination.

  The cyber appeared to be ready to strike a bargain, and make its information available to him, presumably in return for his co-operation in completing its mission. Perhaps Prince Victor’s news about Tassin had sparked the cyber’s offer. Whatever the reason, it was a deal he was eager to accept. He would pursue the Queen and rescue her, he thought, if the cyber would relinquish control of his body. The numbness receded, and pain shot up his arms and legs, making him grimace. He gritted his teeth as a cramp knotted his left thigh.

  “Sabre? Are you all right?” Prince Victor demanded.

  Sabre stretched, wincing as stiff muscles protested. His limbs were leaden and his stomach was a tight knot. Shakily he raised himself on one elbow.

  The Prince straightened with a look of relief. “So, I thought that bit of news might rouse you.”

  Sabre nodded, running his tongue around a dry, foul-tasting mouth. “I need a drink.”

  The Prince clapped, bringing a hovering servant to his side, and gave terse orders to bring food and water. The servant hurried away, and Victor smiled at Sabre, his eyes hard.

  “You have caused me a great deal of trouble. I hope what you have to teach is worth it. King Torrian wanted you very badly, for his axe man to play with. Apparently he is rather upset that you defeated him in combat.”

  Sabre looked up. “So why didn’t you give me to him?”

  “Because I want you for myself, of course. I want to learn your way of fighting. Fortunately, I was able to persuade my brother. His agreement with Torrian did not include you, so he refused, and Torrian had to accept it.” Victor smirked.

  “How long ago did they leave?”

  “Just this morning. Only two hours ago. Your Queen Tassin was most upset. I have never heard such language from a woman before, never mind a queen.”

  Sabre smiled. “She has her moments.”

  The servant returned with food and water, and the conversation stopped while Sabre drained five cups of water and consumed a bland gruel. When his hunger and most of his thirst were assuaged, he slid off the bed, testing his legs. He appeared to be in one of the palace’s suites, as sumptuous as the one Tassin had occupied. Victor lounged on a chair, watching him, and two soldiers stood at the door. Sabre tested wobbly legs and cursed his weakness.

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “Three days,” the Prince supplied with languid disinterest.

  Sabre sat on the bed, waiting for some vitality to flow into him from the gruel. “What kind of transport did Torrian have?”

  Victor looked smug. “A big, gold-plated coach. Torrian loves his pomp and ceremony, although it is not very practical.”

  Sabre stared at the floor. That meant they would be travelling slowly, and would probably only reach the pass in two or three days. It gave him time to escape and catch up before Tassin arrived at Torrian’s castle, or better still, before they reached the pass. He became aware that Victor was addressing him.

  “...I do feel sorry for your queen, however. She is a lovely girl. I was most distressed to have to turn down her offer of marriage. It was extremely tempting.”

  “She asked you to marry her?” Sabre’s brows shot up.

  “Oh, indeed, she was terribly upset when I refused.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “She has a rather... astringent tongue.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  Victor nodded in a superior manner. “Naturally you, as her man-at-arms, were subject to her fury more than once.”

  “Naturally.”

  “When do you suppose you will feel well enough to start teaching?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  The Prince rose to his feet. “By the way, I was impressed by what you did to the dungeon door, and the shackles. How did you break them?”

  Sabre glanced at one of his wrists, which had a broad black bruise across it. “I snapped them.”

  “So easily?”

  “Not that easily.”

  “So you do use magic, then.”

  Sabre shrugged. “Not exactly. You could say that magic has been used on me, to make me stronger.”

  “And you cannot use this magic on another, to make him stronger too?”

  “No.”

  “But your magic turned against you in the end, did it not?”

  “More like I turned against it.” By disobeying the Queen, Sabre thought bitterly.

  “I see.”

  Sabre knew he did not, and hid a smile as the Prince left. The guards at the door bowed as Victor passed them, then eyed Sabre with deep misgivings. It seemed that the tales of his prowess had spread to all
and sundry. He winked at them, making them tense, then he sighed and lay down. Torrian was no fool. Thirteen days had passed since the wolf’s attack on the mountain. During that time, the King had deduced their destination and despatched a messenger, then set out for Olgara himself.